


Considering how I've been beaten

by oddishly



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/pseuds/oddishly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Considering how I've been beaten

**Author's Note:**

> I'm close to finishing another thing that I'm quite proud of. Obviously it was easier to write this instead of working on that. *hands*

Brad knows. Of course he fucking knows. Brad knows all sorts of shit he's not supposed to know, in Iraq he was more use than all Nate's COs put together, but he's never known this before.

"Sir," says Brad. 

"Nate," says Nate. It's been years since anyone had reason to _sir_ Nate, but from Brad anything else would be impossibly intimate. But it's important to keep up appearances.

"Sir," says Brad, "calm down."

Nate looks at him sharply. "Why?"

"Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything," says Nate. He wants to stare at his drink, at the bartender, at the gloom on the other side of the window or the fire to the left of the bar, but cowardice has never been the problem, for either of them.

 

 

"I dreamed about it, once," says Brad, a long time later, sprawled on Nate's sofa, startling Nate out of a drunk, easy fantasy of Brad not finding out after all.

"You dreamed about what?"

"Me and you. In Iraq. You were driving my Humvee and I was sucking you off."

Nate splutters.

"It was good," says Brad, "but the Sergeant Major ripped the shit out of me in front of all the men for having come on my face. All _Sergeant Colbeeeert_ \--"

Nate is never going to unhear it.

"Yous can suck Lieutenant Fick off all you want, Sergeant, you can suck the entire Company off for alls I care, but you! will! maintain! the! grooming! standard!"

Nate is horrified. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," says Brad. "Reporter woke me up, I think he thought I was having a nightmare."

"Wasn't it?"

"Sergeant Major Sixta is many things," says Brad after a moment, "but there's some things even he can't fuck up."

 

 

Nate wakes up early the next day and creeps through his living room past the pile of blankets Brad is buried under to get to the bathroom, so he can piss and scrub whatever died out of his mouth and put his head under the shower.

Brad's not there anymore when Nate emerges feeling significantly more human. He stares at the new space on the sofa, nausea rising in his stomach, trying to decide whether he cares if his neighbors notice him running down the street to beg Brad to come back, when he notices the shadows moving in his bedroom.

"Hurry up," says Brad sleepily as Nate stands in the doorway. "You're letting all the cold air in."

"You're in my bed."

"I'm a very conscientious sleeper," says Brad, and rolls from the middle of the bed to the far side like he already knows which side Nate prefers to sleep on.

Nate climbs in and Brad rolls close, warm against his back. "Brad--"

Brad snores over the top of him. Nate holds his breath, counting down from twenty three times in a row while Brad slowly, carefully wraps himself around him, one hand over Nate's chest, the other flat against his back.

"Brad," he says again.

"Really, sir, now?" says Brad petulantly, and Nate laughs until he falls back asleep by mistake.

 

 

He wakes up again sweaty, Brad's body close around him, and spends a long minute trying to disentangle his limbs before realizing that Brad is awake, too.

"Morning--"

"Nate," says Brad, low. "Come on. Why do you think I told you?"

"So we could be friends," says Nate, ignoring everything to the contrary. "If I get over you, we go back to being equals."

"We've never been equals," says Brad. "And we're not friends." He shifts, pushing his cock up against Nate's ass. Nate's mouth drops open; he shuts his eyes. "Is that what you want?"

Nate fumbles behind him, palm to Brad's thigh, his hip.

"I can leave."

"No--"

"As far as your sofa, that is. It's fucking raining again. If you really want to be friends."

Nate says, "That's the last thing I want."

"Yes," Brad agrees. He kisses the back of Nate's neck, sending shivers all over Nate's body. "We have the whole day ahead of us. We could do anything." He moves so he can murmur into Nate's ear. "What do you want?"

Nate thinks. A day. More. "Less cryptic would be a start."

Brad snorts. He pulls away, leaving Nate bereft until he pushes him to the mattress and looms over him. "Right you are, sir," he says, and Nate finds a little indiscretion doesn't hurt so much after all, really.


End file.
